Part One: The Wall and theWorld
The Lin Clan's outer wall stood three men high, carved with basic warning formations that glowed faintly in the dark. To Lin Chen's new perception, they looked like children's drawings—crude lines of energy meant to deter common beasts and wandering spirits.
He remembered better walls.
Tianyuan's celestial palace had walls that were not barriers but living sculptures, formations woven into the stone itself that sang when approached by hostile intent. They didn't just block—they judged, they adapted, they taught.
This wall just stood there. Dumb stone.
Lin Chen placed a hand against it. Felt the vibration of the formation. A simple pulse: stay out, stay out, stay out. It would alert the guard towers if crossed.
But formations had rhythms. And rhythms could be harmonized with.
He closed his eyes. Let his Qi match the formation's pulse. Not opposing it. Joining it. Becoming part of its pattern.
For three breaths, he was a stone in the wall. For three more, he was the mortar between stones. Then, for one perfect moment, he was the formation itself.
He stepped through.
No alarm. No resistance. Just the slight tingle of energy accepting energy.
He stood on the other side.
Free.
The Beast Forest stretched before him, a wall of deeper darkness. The trees were ancient, twisted things that seemed to lean away from the clan compound, as if repelled by its presence. The air smelled different here—rich with decay and growth, with predator and prey, with life that didn't care about human politics.
He looked back once. Saw the compound's lights flickering through the rain that had started again. Saw the Execution Stone, a darker patch in the central courtyard.
Goodbye, he thought. Not to the place. To the boy he'd been here.
Then he turned and walked into the trees.
Part Two: The First Lesson of the Forest
The forest didn't care that he carried a god's memories. It had its own memories, older and deeper.
Lin Chen moved slowly. Every sense alert. Not just his own senses—Tianyuan's awareness layered over them, interpreting data he wouldn't have noticed before.
The bent grass there: something heavy passed recently. The scent on the wind: rain coming, but also blood from the west. The silence in that patch of ferns: too complete, probably something waiting.
He remembered Tianyuan's first time in a primordial forest. Not this one. A forest where trees were mountains and beasts were demigods. The lesson had been simple:
"The forest is the truest teacher. It kills without malice. It gives without mercy. It is what cultivation aspires to be: perfectly balanced, perfectly ruthless."
Lin Chen kept moving. Deeper.
The rain started in earnest. Not the gentle drizzle from before. A proper downpour. Water streamed through leaves, dripped from branches, turned the ground to mud.
He should find shelter. But shelter meant stopping. Stopping meant vulnerability.
A memory surfaced, unwanted:
Tianyuan teaching his fifth disciple—the one who loved beasts—how to read animal signs. "Everything leaves traces. Not just physical. Emotional. Intentional. Learn to read the forest's mood, and it will tell you what you need to know."
The disciple had excelled. Later, he'd used that knowledge to engineer plagues that wiped out entire species he deemed "impure."
Lin Chen pushed the memory away. Focused on the now.
He found a half-cave under a rock overhang. Not ideal—could be another creature's home—but it was dry-ish. He crouched inside. Watched the rain.
His robes were soaked. He was cold. Hungry.
For the first time, he felt the practical weight of his situation. He had no food. No tools. No knowledge of this specific forest beyond clan warnings: "Stay out or die."
He had Tianyuan's memories of a thousand forests, but memory wasn't map. It was theory. This was practice.
He breathed. Centered himself.
First: warmth.
A basic fire technique. Not with wood—he had none dry enough. With Qi.
He remembered the principle: friction generates heat. Not physical friction. Spiritual friction. Rubbing two opposed energy types together.
He gathered what little Qi he had. Split it into two streams: one with wood attribute (growth, warmth), one with water attribute (flow, cooling). He brought them together carefully, not letting them merge, letting them brush against each other.
Sparks.
Tiny ones. Not enough.
He tried again. Adjusted the angle. The pressure.
More sparks. A flicker of flame.
He cupped his hands. Nursed the flicker. Fed it with more wood-attributed Qi.
A small flame appeared, hovering above his palm. No fuel. Just will.
It cast dancing shadows on the cave wall. Threw warmth against his face.
He'd done it.
A basic technique. Child's play for any real cultivator.
For him, it was a victory.
He sat with the flame, watching it, feeling its heat. For a moment, just a moment, he felt… capable.
Then the flame flickered. His control wavered. The energy streams crossed improperly.
The flame went out.
Darkness.
He sighed. Tried again.
This time, it came easier. The flame steadied.
Progress.
Part Three: The Night's Visitors
He must have dozed. The flame still burned in his hand when he woke to a sound.
Not rain. Not wind.
Breathing.
Just outside the cave.
He froze. Listened.
Large. Four-legged. Slow, deep breaths. Sniffing.
His mind supplied the memory before his eyes saw it:
Tianyuan encountering a Shadow-Stalker in the Whispering Woods. "They hunt by scent and sound. Move like smoke. Kill with a bite to the spine. Weakness: they're territorial. If you leave their territory, they won't follow."
This wasn't a Shadow-Stalker. But the principle might apply.
Lin Chen slowly, slowly, extinguished his flame. Let darkness envelop him.
The sniffing grew closer.
He could see its shape now, silhouetted against the slightly lighter dark outside the cave. Larger than a wolf. Lower to the ground. Spine ridged. Eyes that glowed faintly green.
A Ridgeback Panther. Clan bestiary had them listed as Tier-1 demon beasts. Dangerous to Foundation cultivators. Deadly to anyone weaker.
Lin Chen was Foundation, early stage. With no combat experience. With skills he'd never practiced.
The panther stepped into the cave mouth. Its head swung toward him. It knew he was here.
Lin Chen's heart hammered. He forced it to slow. Forced calm.
Memory: Tianyuan facing a celestial tiger a thousand times more dangerous. What had he done?
Not fought. Not run.
He'd… bowed.
"Sometimes," Tianyuan's memory whispered, "the greatest power is acknowledging someone else's."
Lin Chen didn't bow. But he met the panther's eyes.
Didn't look away. Didn't show fear. Didn't show threat.
Just… presence.
The panther paused. Sniffed again. Took a step closer.
Lin Chen could smell its breath—meat and forest and wildness.
He remained still. Let his Qi flow calmly. Not defensively. Just… openly.
The panther growled. Low. Vibrating through stone.
Lin Chen breathed out slowly. Let his energy signature soften. Become less "intruder" and more "part of the cave."
Another step. Close enough to pounce.
Then… the panther turned. Walked back out into the rain.
Lin Chen didn't move until the sounds of its passage faded.
Then he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
His hands were shaking.
Not from fear. From aftermath. From the realization: he'd just faced death and not fought, not run, but… communicated.
Sort of.
He stayed in the cave until dawn, not sleeping, listening to the rain and the forest and the memories that whispered with every sound.
Part Four: Morning and Memory
Dawn came grey and wet. The rain had softened to mist.
Lin Chen crawled out of the cave. Stretched stiff limbs.
He needed food. Water he could gather from leaves. Food…
He remembered edible plants. Tianyuan had known thousands. But which grew here?
He walked slowly, examining. Found some berries he recognized—Bitter-Blue. Edible but unpleasant. Ate them anyway. The taste was indeed bitter, with an aftertaste like copper.
Next: direction.
The clan compound was east. He needed to go… somewhere else. West? North?
A memory surfaced, not helpful:
Tianyuan never planned journeys. "The path reveals itself to those who walk it," he'd told his disciples. "Planning is guessing. Walking is knowing."
Lin Chen chose west. Deeper into forest.
As he walked, he practiced. Not combat. Perception.
He focused on seeing the energy flows around him. The life force of plants. The residual Qi of passing animals. The natural formations of the land.
At first, it was overwhelming—a chaotic swirl of information. Then patterns emerged.
That patch of mushrooms grew in a perfect circle because there was a weak spirit vein beneath it. Those trees leaned away from a particular rock because the rock emitted subtle repelling energy. The birds avoided that clearing because…
He stopped. Looked at the clearing.
It looked normal. Grass. Flowers. A fallen log.
But no birds sang nearby. No insects buzzed. The energy felt… still. Too still.
He approached carefully. Examined the ground.
Almost invisible: faint lines in the dirt. Arranged in a pattern.
A formation.
Not human-made. Natural? Or…
He looked closer. The lines formed a trapping array. Crude but effective. Meant to immobilize anything that stepped in the center.
A hunter's trap. But not for animals. For spiritual energy. For Qi.
He stepped back. Circled the clearing.
Found the trigger stone half-buried at the edge. A simple pressure mechanism.
He disabled it with a touch. The formation's energy dissipated.
Someone—or something—in this forest knew formations.
That was… concerning.
He moved on, more cautious now.
Part Five: The River and the Reminder
By midday, he found a river. Wide, swift, grey with runoff from the rain.
He drank. Clean, cold water.
Sat on the bank. Watched the flow.
Water always made him remember. Today was no different.
A memory surfaced, this one sharp and painful:
Tianyuan at a similar river, teaching his second disciple—the one who loved formations—how water could be used in arrays. "Water remembers," he'd said. "It carries the memory of every stone it's touched, every bank it's eroded. A formation that uses water gains that memory. Gains depth."
The disciple had taken the lesson too literally. Later, he'd created a formation that trapped entire cities in endless loops of their own worst memories. Called it "The River of Regret."
Lin Chen dipped a hand in the water. Felt its cold. Its movement.
He wondered: did this river remember his parents? They'd never come this far. Probably not.
But it remembered other things. Older things.
He closed his eyes. Let his awareness flow with the water.
Felt the stones it passed over. The roots it touched. The fish that swam in it. The years it had flowed here.
For a moment, he wasn't Lin Chen. He was the river. Constant. Moving. Changing yet unchanged.
Then a sound shattered the moment.
A shout. Human.
Upstream.
Lin Chen stood. Listened.
More shouts. Clashing sounds. Combat.
He moved toward the sound, staying low, using the riverbank for cover.
Through the trees, he saw:
Three cultivators in grey robes, fighting a beast.
No—not fighting. Being slaughtered.
The beast was a Stone-Tusked Boar, but enormous, twice normal size. Tusks like spear points. Skin that shimmered with rocky protrusions. Tier-2 demon beast, at least.
The cultivators were in trouble. One was already down, not moving. The other two were backing away, swords held in shaking hands.
"Form up!" one shouted. "Formation Three!"
They tried. Their movements were clumsy. Panicked.
The boar charged. One cultivator stabbed. His sword skittered off the boar's stony hide.
The boar tossed its head. A tusk caught the cultivator in the side. He flew through the air, hit a tree, slid down.
One left.
Lin Chen watched. He should help. But how? He had no weapon. No real combat skills.
But he had knowledge.
He remembered boars. Their weakness: the eyes. The soft spot behind the ears. The joints where stone skin met.
He also remembered: they charged straight. Predictable.
The last cultivator was backing toward the river. Toward Lin Chen's position.
The boar lowered its head. Prepared to charge.
Lin Chen made a decision.
He stepped out from cover. Not aggressively. Calmly.
The cultivator saw him. "Run! It's a Stone-Tusker!"
Lin Chen didn't run. He walked toward the boar.
The boar noticed him. Paused. Snorted.
Lin Chen kept walking. His heart hammered, but his movements were steady.
He remembered Tianyuan facing a charging beast a hundred times larger. What had he done?
He'd… stepped aside.
Not at the last moment. At the perfect moment.
Timing was everything.
The boar decided. Charged.
Lin Chen stood his ground.
The cultivator screamed something.
At the last possible instant—when the boar was committed, when it couldn't change direction—Lin Chen stepped to the left. Not much. Just enough.
The boar thundered past. Close enough that Lin Chen felt the wind of its passage.
It skidded to a stop, confused. Turned.
Charged again.
This time, Lin Chen didn't just step aside. As the boar passed, he reached out. Not to strike. To touch.
His fingers found the spot behind the ear. The soft spot between stone plates.
He channeled a tiny burst of Qi. Not attacking. Disrupting.
The boar stumbled. Shook its head. Snorted angrily.
It charged again.
Lin Chen repeated. Step. Touch. Disrupt.
Again.
Again.
Each time, the boar grew more frustrated. More disoriented.
On the fifth charge, Lin Chen didn't step aside. He stepped forward.
Met the charge head-on.
At the last moment, he dropped. Slid under the boar's belly as it passed over him.
His hand found another soft spot—the joint of the front leg.
He pushed Qi in. Harder this time.
The boar screamed—a sound like grinding stones. Collapsed.
Lin Chen rolled away. Stood.
The boar tried to rise. Couldn't. Its front leg wouldn't support it.
It glared at him. Snorted. Then, with surprising intelligence, seemed to assess the situation.
It turned. Limped away into the forest.
Gone.
Silence.
Then the cultivator gasped. "You… you…"
Lin Chen turned. The cultivator was young. Maybe his age. Face pale with shock and pain—he had a gash on his arm.
"Are you all right?" Lin Chen asked.
The cultivator just stared. "You… fought a Stone-Tusker with no weapon. With… touches."
"It worked."
"Who are you?"
"No one." Lin Chen looked at the other two cultivators. One was stirring. The other… wasn't. "Your friend…"
The cultivator rushed to the unmoving one. Checked his pulse. Sagged in relief. "Alive. Unconscious."
Lin Chen helped him tend to the wounds. Basic first aid. He knew more—Tianyuan's medical knowledge was extensive—but he used only what a normal person might know.
As they worked, the cultivator talked. His name was Kai. They were from the "Whispering Pine Sect," a small cultivation sect a day's travel west. They'd been gathering herbs when the boar attacked.
"We're just outer disciples," Kai said bitterly. "They send us out here like bait. See who survives, who doesn't."
Lin Chen nodded. Sounded familiar.
The other conscious cultivator—Ming—was now sitting up, holding his head. "That beast… it came out of nowhere."
Lin Chen finished bandaging Kai's arm. "You should go back. Your sect."
"What about you?" Kai asked. "You're alone? In the Beast Forest?"
"For now."
Kai hesitated. Then: "Come with us. To the sect. You saved us. They'll… they might take you in. As a guest. At least give you food, shelter."
Lin Chen considered. A sect. Other cultivators. Resources. But also attention. Questions.
Dangerous.
But less dangerous than the forest alone, with no supplies, no knowledge of the area.
And… he needed to learn. About this world. About cultivation as it was practiced now. Tianyuan's memories were ancient. Things had changed.
"All right," he said.
Kai smiled, relieved.
They helped the unconscious cultivator—Liang—to his feet. Started walking west, following the river.
As they walked, Kai kept glancing at Lin Chen. "That technique… what was that? I've never seen anything like it."
"Just… something I figured out," Lin Chen said.
"Figured out?" Ming said, incredulous. "You figured out how to take down a Stone-Tusker with touches?"
Lin Chen didn't answer. He was watching the forest. Listening.
And remembering:
Tianyuan's first time meeting other cultivators after leaving home. The curiosity. The suspicion. The beginning of everything that came after.
Be careful, the memory whispered. Every relationship is a door. Some doors lead to gardens. Some to prisons.
Part Six: The Whispering Pine Sect
The sect was not what Lin Chen expected.
He'd imagined something like the Lin Clan compound but bigger. Grander.
This was… modest.
A cluster of wooden buildings nestled in a pine-filled valley. A training ground with simple equipment. A main hall that looked recently repaired. Maybe fifty disciples visible, most in grey robes like Kai's.
No towering walls. No glowing formations. Just… a place.
"Home," Kai said, with a mixture of pride and resignation.
They were met at the gate by an older cultivator—an elder, judging by his more elaborate robes. He took in their condition, the unconscious Liang, and his face tightened.
"What happened?"
Kai explained. The elder's eyes kept flicking to Lin Chen.
When Kai finished, the elder said, "And him?"
"He saved us, Elder Wen. He fought off the Stone-Tusker."
Elder Wen's eyebrows rose. He looked Lin Chen up and down. "You. What sect?"
"None," Lin Chen said.
"Clan?"
"None."
"Family?"
Lin Chen hesitated. "Dead."
Elder Wen studied him for a long moment. Then nodded. "Guest rights for three days. Kai, show him to the guest hut. Then report to the infirmary."
He turned and walked away.
Kai led Lin Chen to a small hut at the edge of the compound. Basic but clean. A bed. A table. A window looking out on pines.
"It's not much," Kai said apologetically.
"It's fine," Lin Chen said. And meant it. After the forest, it felt like luxury.
"I'll bring food later," Kai said. "And… thank you. Again."
He left.
Lin Chen sat on the bed. Looked around.
So this was a sect. A real cultivation sect.
He could feel the energy here. Thin but present. Spirit veins beneath the valley, weak but usable. The disciples he'd seen were mostly Foundation stage, a few Core formation. The elders… he wasn't sure.
He stood. Walked to the window.
Looked out at the training ground. Disciples practiced sword forms. Basic ones. Flawed.
He could see the mistakes. The inefficiencies. He knew better forms. Simpler. More effective.
But he kept his knowledge to himself.
For now.
A memory surfaced:
Tianyuan's first time at a sect as a guest. He'd been young then, too. He'd seen flaws. Had wanted to help. Had offered corrections.
It had not gone well. Pride was a thicker armor than any cultivation.
"Sometimes," Tianyuan's memory whispered, "the kindest thing is to let people be wrong. Until they ask to be right."
Lin Chen turned from the window. Sat on the bed again.
Closed his eyes.
Felt the memories stir. Felt Tianyuan's presence in his mind, watching through his eyes, judging this place, these people.
Not like your palace, Lin Chen thought toward the presence.
A feeling like agreement. Then sadness.
This was the cultivation world now. Small. Diminished. A shadow of what it had been.
And Lin Chen was here. In it.
With a god's memories and a boy's power.
He opened his eyes. Looked at his hands.
They were still the hands that had touched a boar into submission. That had formed a pill from will alone. That had walked through a wall.
They were learning.
He was learning.
Not just cultivation. How to be both Lin Chen and Tianyuan. How to carry the past without being crushed by it.
Outside, a bell rang. Meal time.
He stood. Walked to the door.
Paused.
Looked back at the empty room.
Then stepped out.
Into the sect.
Into whatever came next.
End of Chapter 3